Friday's Child

***Monday's Child is fair of face, Tuesday's Child is full of grace, Wednesday's Child is full of woe, Thursday's Child has far to go, Friday's Child is loving and giving, Saturday's Child works hard for a living but the Child born on the Sabbath Day is fair and wise and good and gay.***

I've always loved my job. Ever since I watched a documentary about how massage therapy restores health and well-being to people who have been injured due to accidents. I was hooked. I remember the little girl's name was Jessica and after two years of intensive therapy, she was able to walk into her third grade classroom at the beginning of the school year. I couldn't stop crying and imagined that if I could help someone like that one day, it would be the crowning glory of my life. Luckily, my parents agreed and paid for me to attend college and after graduating, I struck out on my own.

At first, I sought out the regular practices, always working for someone who was more interested in the bottom line than the patient's well-being. I became very disillusioned with the office politics and opted for a hospital setting. But there were more problems there. Not only did I have to deal with office politics but I was subjected to money-driven bureaucrats and therapists who protected their seniority like Fort Knox gold. While I enjoyed the variety of cases I saw, I couldn't stomach the drama and borrowing a bit of money from my parents, I bought into a turn-key operation and started my own business.

Most of my clients were referrals from an old friend, Harvey Lidenbeck, who was a personal injury attorney. Very few were truly injured and my complaints always drew a big laugh from Harvey, who continued to send them in droves. Thus, my little practice prospered and soon, I was looking at having to hire another massage therapist to help me. I put out an ad and spent long hours weeding the 'erotic operators' and charlatans out, leaving me with a net total of six possible employees. I set about interviewing them on one day, a Sunday, and each one proved not to be a team player. Until I met Lane.

Lane Calderon, a delicious mixture of Spanish and English blood, had practiced massage therapy for a number of years and was looking for a fresh challenge. I had no idea that a man could be as handsome as Lane. I wondered why he wasn't a model. He strode into the office with easy charm, gazing about the waiting room with an interested eye before offering his hand to me with an introduction. His Spanish accent had me spellbound and we talked for what seemed like hours about the job, his life and my practice.

"You look very tired."

I put his résumé down, tossing the pen on top of it and tried to stretch in the limited space. "I am, Lane. I've been working fifteen hour days, six days a week and it's catching up with me."

Lane smiled warmly. "Well, why maybe I can convince you with one of my famous body massages? I guarantee that you'll sleep like a baby when you get home."

"Lane," I stood, stretching through aches and pains that I didn't know I had. "That's the best offer I've had all day."

I shucked off my shoes and jeans and stretched out on one of the tables, excited to be on the receiving end of a massage for once. I jumped when his hands touched my skin. They were as soft as a woman's but strong and he began to knead my leg muscles, rubbing the warmth of the oil deep into the knots in my body. I tried to pay attention to the nuances in his technique but I was so far gone on the needy scale that I just didn't care. He moved down to my feet and I actually moaned when he ran his knuckles down my insoles.

"Like that, querida?" He spent a little time with the muscle behind my kneecaps, then moved up to my thighs. His fingers felt so good that my pussy started growing wet, much to my surprise. I'd been working so hard that I forgot all about that part of my anatomy. I let out a small whimper and moved my legs open a little farther, not really thinking about what I was doing. I'm glad that Lane knew. His sure fingers worked up to the edge of my panties, then moved past elastic and cotton, finding my pulsating center.

A deep shiver ran through me and he pumped his finger again, drawing another low moan from me. His conquering finger slid out and I felt him turn me over, then his sweet lips descended upon mine, making me light-headed. I sighed into his mouth, drawing his hand up to my breast and groaned when he gave my nipples a hard squeeze. I felt his hands at my waist and the cold rush of air as my panties were tugged away. I heard the sound of his zipper and sat up, pulling my slip and shirt off, glad to see him naked as well.

"Are you okay with this?" I kissed him instead of answering, kind of perturbed that he would ask such a stupid question and opened my legs, anxiously awaiting his hard length. Lane didn't disappoint me. He gave me a tender kiss, gathering me in his arms and sliding into me. I groaned, welcoming his inner massage and wanting to laugh in joy. It was such a perfect ending to a hard segment of my life. Lane probably thought I was insane, the way I responded to him. I fucked him back, ramming my hips back with every bit of energy I possessed.

His dark eyes burned deeply into mine and in no time, I was chanting his name as he rode me to the best orgasm I'd had in probably 28 months. I screamed in ecstasy, tilting my hips so that he rammed himself as deeply as possible into me and I heard his helpless grunt as he came. His cum splashed into my pussy, lubricating the walls that were squeezing him mercilessly and we both lay together afterward, holding each other while we waited for our energies to return.

"You're hired, Lane." I whispered, wrapping my legs around him and pushing his half-hard cock back into my still-twitching pussy. "You're hired."